


A Song of Rick and Morty

by BasilJack



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Rick and Morty
Genre: Crossover, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Humor, I mean lots of swearing, Like obviously there's lots of swearing its Rick, Mentions of Prostitution (surprising no one since this is Game of Thrones), Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:40:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25264003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BasilJack/pseuds/BasilJack
Summary: Morty just wants to fix Game of Thrones.  Rick doesn't want to be here.It goes about as well as could be expected.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	A Song of Rick and Morty

“Oh, shit! Morty, look over there!” Rick was exuberant, excitement bubbling out of every pore. “That guy there! Look at him, Morty! He’s,” Rick belched, “He’s shoveling poop, Morty!” Another belch. “Shoveling poop onto dirt, Morty! Goddamn, you were right. This place  _ is _ cool.”

“Shut up, Rick.” Morty stepped onto the grass at the side of the field and wiped his shoes. “This is my adventure. Stop trying to ruin it. He’s fertilizing his field.”

Rick didn’t relent, “Oooooh, fertilizing his field! Good one, Morty. I thought he was shoveling shit. I’ll ask him. Hey! Y-y-you, guy over there!”

The man glanced up from his work, seeming to take Rick and Morty in for the first time, a look of concern crossing his features.

“What’s that that you’re shoveling, my good man?”

“Why, ‘s shit, ser,” the man shouted back. Then, seeing Rick’s white lab coat he added, “begging your pardon, ser.”

“Thank you, peasant! Enjoy what little is left of your miserable existence.” Rick smiled and waved genially before turning away.

“Geez, Rick, could you be any less of a dick to people,” Morty chided.

“I could Morty. I choose not to.” Rick took a bored pull from his flask, glancing around the countryside. Fields, trees and small farmsteads stretched out in every direction on top of a tapestry of rolling hills.

Morty gave his grandpa a glare and turned to the baffled farmer. “Hey, uh, d-do you know, uh, which way is the King in the North?”

The farmer shrugged, and pointed off in a direction.

“Thank you!”

“You’re an idiot, Morty. That guy has no idea where your stupid boyfriend is.”

“Robb Stark is not my boyfriend, and he gave us directions, so we’re taking them.”

“His directions sucked, Morty. He pointed north. North, Morty! Robb is in the Westerlands right now, putting a baby into Jeyne Westerling.”

“So?”

“So, we’re in the  _ Riverlands _ , Morty! He’d be that way.” Rick pointed west.

Morty turned on Rick. “You said you’d take us to Robb Stark!”

Rick rolled his eyes. “Wrong again, Morty. I  _ said _ I’d help you stop the red wedding. We don’t do that by going to Robb Stark.”

Morty glared at his grandfather. “Who’s adventure is this, Rick?”

“Yours, obviously. I would  _ never _ come here on an adventure. We can’t market any of this, Morty. Grrm is a total tightwad with his intellectual property. This whole thing is a waste, Morty. At best we’re in a fan-fic that nobody reads.”

“Look, Rick, I-I-I’m not gonna just sit here while you shit all over my adventure again. If you’re gonna be like this, then I’m going off on my own.”

“Bad idea, Morty. By my estimation we’ve only got a couple of hours before this whole place is crawling with Lannisters. You know what the Mountain that Rides does to people, Morty? People like you? You wanna find out?”

“Wait, you dropped us into the middle of a warzone, Rick?”

“It’s Game of Thrones, Morty! Every damned place is a warzone. What did you think you’d find if I took you to Robb’s Army? You think they’re quietly touring through Tywin’s lands asking politely for the food the local peasants are saving for winter? Don’t be naive.”

“So what’s your plan?”

“We go to Riverrun and keep Edmure Tully from doing anything stupid.”

“And how does this do anything to stop the red wedding?”

“I’ll explain on the way.”

It appeared that the Tullys had called their banners, and Morty marveled at the high walls of the island fortress in front of them, towering over the river and massive camps of troops. Built in the confluence of the Red Fork and the Tumblestone rivers, Riverrun was extremely difficult to siege, requiring control of both the rivers and the lands on all three sides, and it looked as though the master of the great citadel had called all of his soldiers to himself. 

The castle’s gates were open, and a steady stream of the local peasantry were making their way into the keep, picking their way through the encamped army.

“Oof, what a moron,” Rick said, fiddling with his portal gun.

“He’s a moron for protecting his people? You know, you’re ruining this for yourself with your attitude. This is neat, Rick. I mean, look at that castle. You don’t see something like that, every day, do ya? You’re just mad because you didn’t think of coming here first.”

“Yeah, Morty. Real cool how these idiots stacked a bunch of rocks on top of each other in order to oppress and exploit thousands of their fellow humans, but don’t let me stop you and your rose colored glasses from whitewashing one of the shittiest times in history into a magical land of adventure, and fun.”

“God,  _ damnit... _ ”

A group of ragged looking peasants hurried past them with a hand cart and a badly injured man lying in the back among their belongings. His bandages were haphazard and soaked through with blood.  
“Oh, look! Morty! That guy’s wounded! It looks infected. I bet the maesters will help him. Oh, wait. No they won’t, because that guy’s a peasant, and the maesters only serve the nobility. Magical land of adventure and fun.” Rick finished fiddling with his portal gun. “Alright, we’re good, let's go in.”

“Aren’t you gonna help him?” pleaded Morty.

“No.” Rick fired the portal gun at the ground and jumped through.

“Sorry,” Morty offered to the gaping people surrounding him, before following Rick through the swirling green vortex.

Morty dropped into Lord Edmure Tully’s solar with the grace of a trout. He picked himself up off of the fading myrish carpets, rubbing his backside, and the portal snapped shut above him.

A tall man, with auburn hair and beard stood at a great table, surrounded by advisors and men at arms. All eyes in the room were on Rick and Morty.

“What sorcery is this?” asked the tall redhead. He wore a blue tunic with a leaping trout.

“It’s not sorcery, it’s science,” Rick grumbled.

Morty stepped in, spreading his arms, “We come from the future! Take us to Lord Edmure Tully!”

“I am he,” said the tall man.

Morty rounded on Rick, “What the hell, man! Are we in the books?”

“What are you talking about, Morty…”

“I’m talking about him, Rick! He’s supposed to be the guy from Outlander.”

“Are you serious, Morty? That’s what you know Tobias Menzies from? From ‘Outlander’? God, Morty, you really are stupid.”

“Well, what the hell do you know him from?”

“Oh, come on, Morty, ‘Rome.’ ‘The Crown.’ He shows up in an episode of Doctor Who, too. Why would you ever admit to watching Outlander?”

“Quit trying to change the subject, you brought us into the books.”

“Of course we’re in the books.”

“Excuse me,” Edmure tried to interject.

Rick and Morty rounded on him in unison. “Shut the fuck up.” “Yeah, shut up, man! Jeez.

“I wanted to change the show, Rick. I don’t care about the books.”

“That’s because you’re a fucking idiot, Morty. The show was still based on the books at this point. We change the books, we change the show.”

“Excuse me!” This time Edmure was more insistent, and his usually amiable face was contorted into something akin to fury. “Who in the seven hells are you?”

“I’m Morty, and this is my grandpa, Rick. We’re, uh, like, maesters, so…”

“Then go join maester Vyman. I sent him to tend to my people. Many of the smallfolk are arriving with grievous wounds from Clegane and his damned raiders.”

“Ha! Boo ya, Rick! Looks like you were wrong. It is a magical land of adventure and fun!”

“Oh, shut up, you little shit. One act of kindness doesn’t erase the evils of an entire system.”

“The two of you will remove yourself from my solar immediately.”  
Rick scoffed, “this isn’t your solar, Edmure. Hoster Tully’s still alive. And, no, we aren’t leaving. You’re about to fuck up big time, and we’re here to stop you.”

Edmure Tully bristled. “I have no time for this. This is a war council. Tywin Lannister’s host is on its way, and I intend to hold them along the fords of the Trident and the Red Fork. Guards, remove them.” Two men at arms stepped forward cautiously.

Rick shrugged and pulled out his ray gun. Morty jumped in, “wait, Ser Edmure. Listen to us, we know what we’re talking about.”

“You’re wasting your time, Morty. These neanderthals only respond to one thing.”

“Rick, c’mon. Vaporizing his guards isn’t gonna help,” Morty turned back to the acting lord of Riverrun. “What my grandpa means is you’re about to do the wrong thing for the right reasons. If you fight Tywin here, you’ll keep him from crossing back into the westerlands.”

“Excellent!” exclaimed a beaming lord with a dancing pink maiden on his tabard.

“I knew it,” nodded another, his clothing sporting a skeletal white tree on a black shield surrounded by ravens. “The western shores are steep, and overgrown. We can conceal great numbers of archers up on the banks, and rain hell down on the Lannister swine.”

The two guards stopped advancing, taking the excited conversation of the lords in attendance to mean that they might not need to accost the two strangers.

“You’re missing the point,” said Morty, slamming his hands on the table, “King Robb wants you to let the Lannisters through.”

The room went silent, except for Edmure. “What do you mean?”

“He means you should follow your orders,” an exasperated Rick intoned. “What did Robb tell you to do?” Rick didn’t give him a chance to respond. “He told you to stay in your castle. Instead, you’ve gone and raised an army.”

Edmure looked irritated, “Of course I have. If you think I’m going to let Tywin Lannister lead an army through my lands unmolested you’re a bigger fool than you look.”

“Oh, I look like a fool, do I,” shouted Rick, “Spoiler Alert! I’m not the one who ends up paraded around naked with a noose around his neck.”

“Is that a threat, old man,” Edmure glared across the table at Rick, resting his hand on his sword.”

“I don’t make threats, you ginger bitch.”

“Are you looking to die? I’d gladly duel you if I thought you could even lift a sword.”

“Oh, the floppy fish wants to fight me?” Rick danced from one foot to the other, waving his hands, “I’m so fucking scared. The big dumb idiot is gonna hit me with his sharp stick.”

“Oh, I’ll do more than that, you decrepit old madman.”

Morty could see things were getting out of hand, “I think we all need to calm down.”

Edmure Tully and Rick both rounded on Morty, “Stay out of this, boy!” “Yeah, shut the fuck up, Morty!”

“I’ve had enough of you two. Guards!”

The two guards made to seize them, but Rick waved his hands dismissively, “Yeah, I’ve had enough, too. Let’s go, Morty, I’m gonna go get drunk on this dingbat’s wine.”

Edmure’s face was as red as his beard, “the hell you are, old man.”

“I’m sorry, what’s that? I couldn’t hear you, cuz I’m so old.” Rick walked out of the room backwards, flipping off the guards and lords, especially Edmure.

“What do you think that gesture meant?” asked one of the lords, a man with a two towered bridge on his doublet.

“It means peace among worlds,” said Morty dully, as he shuffled after his grandpa.

Rick was in the great hall, with a tankard of ale next to him and a lute in his lap.

“Where did you get… you know what, nevermind.”

“Morty! So glad you could make it! I’m about to play my favorite song! It’s called ‘Floppy Fish.’” Rick was shouting, and the soldiers in the hall looked at him with confusion  _ or  _ anger.

“What the hell was that, Rick? We were supposed to convince him to stay in the castle!”

“New plan, Morty. We’re gonna sit here for a few weeks, get drunk on that assholes’ dime, and not worry about it.” Rick took a big gulp of his ale and made a face. “Nevermind, Morty, we’re going home.”

“No, Rick! I’m not! I’m not going home! I came here to stop the red wedding, and I’m gonna do that, and you’ve been no help! All you’ve done since we got here is bitch, and complain, and ruin our one chance of fixing this.”

“Why the fuck do you even care, Morty? They shit the bed so hard in Season 8 that nobody even gives a fuck about Game of Thrones anymore! Have you ever seen anything disappear from the public consciousness so quickly? People wouldn’t shut up about it, Morty! Then, BAM! Nothing. It’s dead, Morty. D&D killed it.”

“Look, Rick…”

“Why are you trying so hard to save a fucking corpse, anyway, Morty?”

“Because, Rick, I was invested. I cared about it, and, yeah, maybe that makes me an idiot, or, y-y’know, whatever, but I actually watched it, and spent time on it, and wanted good things for, for, like, the Starks, and Dany, and Tyrion, and maybe even King Robert, a little…”

“Well, you’re right about one thing, Morty.”

“What’s that?” asked Morty, hopefully.

“Caring does make you a little bitch. Also, Robert’s a total piece of shit, Morty. He’s a fucking rapist, but I’m gonna help you, Morty. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Nooo idea” Rick sighed.

Morty grinned conspiratorially, “could it be because you actually do care? You wanna help because I’m your grandson? I’m your grandson and you do care about me?”

“No.”

“Maybe just a little?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny any caring directed toward you on my part.”

“Ha, I knew it. You know what else that means?”

“Yeah, I know…”

“That makes you a little bitch, too.”

“Yup. You got me.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“Well, that red headed jackass is going to go fight the Battle of the Fords, and win. Robb’s probably already broken his pledge to the Freys by porking that Westerling girl. They’ll find out about it soon enough, and ride out. I figure we’ve got at least a month to kill before the Red Wedding actually happens.”

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Portal around Westeros and Volantis getting drunk and partying until we pass out every night?”

“Absolutely!”

“It’ll be just like the Ren Fest back home!”

“Except I can get drunk, too!”

“Don’t tell your parents.”

“As if!”

And so it came to pass that Young Morty and his grandfather, Rick, didst set out into the world of a Song of Ice and Fire, drinking, feasting and whoring away their days in what the two would later recall, albeit hazily, was a really fucking good time. I would like to tell you, dearest reader, that they adventured throughout the seven kingdoms and into the world beyond, and took on a great many journeys, and faced a great many perils. I would tell you of their bravery, their resourcefulness, their inane antics, and assholery. I would regale you of tales of epic adventure and harrowing danger. But I will not lie to you, dear reader; the two never made it out of a one hundred yard radius of a brothel in Bravos.

Once the proprietor of that particular tavern, an extremely busty woman named Meralyn, realized that the two strange travelers could pay, and pay handsomely with a seemingly endless supply of coinage and artifacts she took it upon herself to keep the two weirdos in her establishment as long as possible. She made it her personal mission to bring into the Happy Port, as her brothel was called, everything Braavos had to offer. The two proved to be excellent customers. They took to her and her whorehouse famously, and made Merry, as Meralyn was called by absolutely everyone who knew her, and her whores, and servers, and barmen, and bouncers, and occasionally her other customers, very rich.

It was a morning much like any other, and Rick and Morty were reclining at their usual table, nursing their hangovers with a hearty breakfast and more alcohol, scale of the dragon, as the locals called it...

“That’s stupid,” said Rick.

...Well, Rick, I didn’t make that shit up. That’s a Grrmism.

“Change it then.”

No. I’m not about to cater to your narcissism. This is my fanfic, and so help me, I’ll kill you here and now if you-

“You haven’t got the balls, you artless hack.”

“Who are you talking to?” asked a bewildered Morty.

“Shut up, Morty. I’m telling off the writer, eat your bacon.”

I got this one, Rick. Morty shut up and ate his bacon. It was at that moment-

“Hey, I’m not done with you!”

-that a young man wearing all black walked into the Happy Port-

“Oh shit.”

-and with a voice like honey poured over thunder addressed the sleepy brothel.

“I am Daeron. I am a singer from Westeros. I’m here to make it big.”

Rick leapt to his feet, “Goddamnit, Morty! We’re too late!”

“What do you mean, we’re too late.”

“I mean, if he’s here, then the Red Wedding’s already happened, Morty! Quick, come with me!”

Rick grabbed Morty and dragged him out into the canals. A young girl with dark hair was selling oysters, and immediately caught Rick’s eye.

“What’s your name, kid,” asked Rick wildly, though he already knew the answer.

“I’ll tell you my name if you buy some oysters.”

“Fine, here!” Rick threw a coin at the child, who caught it deftly, and bit it to check the quality.

“I’m Cat of the Canals.”

Rick’s face went white. “The fuck you are. Let’s get the hell out of here, Morty! We’ve missed the Red Wedding. Missed it by months! How long have we been in there?!?”

Morty started freaking out. “I’m freaking out here, Rick! I dunno. I was just following you, y-ya know?”

“We’ve been in that brothel for fucking months, Morty! Months!”

“Oh, jeez”

“We gotta get home! Jesus Christ, Morty!”

Cat of the Canals stepped in close. “Did you say something about the Red Wedding?”

Rick grabbed Morty and backed away, “We’re just as upset about it as you are. Terrible tragedy. Awful stuff.”

“Rick, what’re you doing? She's just a kid.”

“She’s a fucking murderer Morty! She’ll gut you as soon as look at you. I-I-I’m gonna level with you, she’s the one character in this whole world I wouldn’t want to tangle with. We’re leaving.”

Rick pulled Morty backwards through a portal. The two found themselves standing next to an overgrown field, the decaying skeletal corpse of a farmer dangling from a tree, the nearby homestead a charred husk.

“But…”  
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re just as guilty as I am. You could have left that whorehouse at any time. We gotta get out of here, Morty. That crazy fuck threw Arya at us. Arya Stark, Morty! He’s a fucking psychopath!”

“But…”

“Level with me, Morty! Do you really want to stay? Do you have, you know, the energy t-t-to fix this? Lets just go home, okay? They can’t all be winners.”

“A-a-alright, Rick, but I want my punch card back.”

“Not happening, Morty,” said Rick as he felt around grasping at empty air. Rick found what he was looking for and opened the door to his invisible ship, “best I can do is give you three stamps toward your next one. Now get in.”

“Fine. Why did we even bring the ship, Rick?”

“Don’t think about it, Morty. Nothing about this adventure makes sense. Let's just go.”

_ Fin. _


End file.
